Work Catastrophe...or is it?

I am an IDIOT

I woke up this morning with this thought in mind. Why you ask? Because it was 1:00 in the afternoon, and work starts at 9:00am. For once, it's a good thing I work for my dad, because if I had done this anywhere else my ass would be fired.

I didn't feel too bad though. One of my co-workers has already called in sick three times in the last two months, and our office has only been open a total of five months.

I just thought of a neat way to abuse statistics. Co-worker V has used three sick days in five months. That's 0.6 days a month, and 0.6 rounds up to 1. One could say that Co-worker V has been gone an average of one day a month. So there is a 100% chance that Co-worker V will take use a sick day this month and...okay I'm stopping now. I was going to go on with confidence intervals and crap like that, but statistics is boring and I don't want to think about it anymore.

So anyway, after my initial bout of panic I ended up arriving at work at 2:00 because it takes an hour for me to get there (including my bathroom and dressing time). I arrive and I immediately start doing what I do most, filing. Yes, I spent the whole commute fretting about my filing job. I need to make some changes in my life. For some reason, getting worried about losing a job that I dislike and what my co-workers might think about me in the job that I dislike doesn't seem worth it for a job that I don't like (did I mention that Laura + job = dislike?)

I guess waking up really late was a good thing. Until today my job was okay, but now I realize it's not great. I can't quit just yet, but I need to get something more from living back here in Craptown. Maybe tomorrow I'll go to the closest university and sign up for a pottery class.

Oh yeah, you might be wondering why I don't have an alarm clock. Well, usually my mom or my dad wakes me up in the morning. Since that system was working so well, I didn't see any reason why I should make a special trip to Walmart to spend $4.00 for a clock that makes annoying sounds at pre-programmed times so I can get my crotch outta bed. Last night though, at around 2:30, my dad scolded me for staying up late and told me to go to bed. I figured, since you're going to treat me like I'm thirteen, I'm going to act like I'm thirteen (a childish thing to do). So I retorted, "Why don't you go to bed?" Guess that's what I get for not honoring my father.